Dragons Lair. Sara Craven

Eventually Mrs Parry said nervously, ‘Oh dear—I wonder what … I suppose I’d better introduce myself. I’m Gethyn’s Aunt Beth—his father’s sister.’

      It seemed ludicrous under the circumstances to express any kind of pleasure at the meeting, so Davina contented herself with shaking hands in silence.

      ‘I’m sorry if my arrival has upset anyone,’ she said at last. ‘But I am here on business.’ She indicated her briefcase, leaning against one leg of the table.

      Mrs Parry eyed it almost distractedly. ‘Yes, of course, only … It’s so difficult, you see.’

      ‘Mrs Parry,’ Davina tried to sound reassuring, ‘I haven’t come to stay. I work for my uncle at Hanson Greer and I have some papers for Gethyn to look at. If I could just see him for a few minutes …’

      ‘Well, you can’t, then,’ Rhiannon broke in rudely. ‘Because he’s not here and he won’t be back until tomorrow or the next day. So you may as well take yourself off.’

      ‘Rhiannon!’ It was her mother’s turn to sound really angry now. ‘If you can’t be civil, you’d better go to your room. I’ll deal with this.’

      Rhiannon’s lip curled. ‘Please yourself. If you want me, I’ll be in the stables.’ With a last inimical glance at Davina she walked out of the front door and disappeared.

      Mrs Parry became galvanised into activity. ‘Won’t you come in, Miss—er—oh!’ She broke off in confusion. ‘I don’t even know what to call you.’ She threw open one of the doors on the left revealing a large sitting room furnished with comfortable sofas and deep armchairs covered in faded chintz. ‘Do sit down. I’ll go and make some tea.’

      Davina halted her. ‘Please—not for me. Was Rhiannon right? Is Gethyn not here?’

      His aunt looked troubled. ‘Well, no—not at the moment he isn’t. He’ll be back, of course, but it’s difficult to say when. He comes and goes as he pleases, you see.’

      ‘He hasn’t changed,’ Davina said quietly. She made herself smile briefly. ‘Well, that makes things—rather awkward. I had rather counted on seeing him. My uncle will be very disappointed.’

      Mrs Parry appeared to think quickly and make up her mind. ‘Well, if you’d like to stay and wait until he returns, you’d be very welcome.’

      Davina hesitated. It was obviously the most sensible course to pursue under the circumstances, yet she felt uncertain. For one thing she was putting Gethyn’s aunt in a difficult position, and for another she would have to cope with Rhiannon’s open hostility. Gethyn, it seemed, had not been reticent about the past with his young cousin.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I thought you said there was no room.’

      ‘Oh, but you’re family.’ Mrs Parry gave a quick, rather shy smile. ‘That makes all the difference. We can find a corner for you.’

      Davina bit her lip. To describe her as family under the circumstances was pitching it a bit high, but Mrs Parry clearly meant well and it would be churlish to reject the relationship or the hospitality, so she merely thanked her quietly.

      The room she was shown to was quite a large one at the back of the house, overlooking a small orchard with a glimpse of the river in the distance, and beyond that the steep outline of the mountain. It contained a wide brass bedstead covered in a Welsh tapestry counterpane, and matching curtains hung at the windows. There was a tall dressing chest in one corner topped by a mirror on a swivel, and a matching mahogany wardrobe on the other side of the room. There was a small table under the window and an elderly easy chair close beside it. The floorboards and furniture gleamed with polish and a faint fragrance of lavender hung in the room.

      ‘It’s delightful,’ Davina said after the first appreciative glance around.’

      ‘It’s a lovely old house,’ Mrs Parry agreed. She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. ‘Nice view, too. It’s clear today, so you can actually see the Dragon.’

      ‘What did you say?’ Davina stared at her.

      Mrs Parry smiled. ‘Moel y Ddraig—that’s what it means. The bare hilltop of the dragon, and there he is, the old thing.’ She pointed upwards and Davina, intrigued, came to her side.

      It was quite true. The enormous crag which jutted out above the house could, with very little imagination, have been a petrified dragon. It was all there—the great thrusting head with its menacing horns, and the long clawed foot raised threateningly just beneath it. And if you half-closed your eyes, the great shadowy bulk of the hill seemed to become huge spreading wings …

      Davina wrenched herself back to reality with a jerk. She smiled. ‘I hope he’s a friendly dragon, otherwise he’d be rather too close for comfort!’

      Mrs Parry’s eyes twinkled suddenly. ‘Well, he’s never done me any harm. Now I am going to make some tea.’ She paused. ‘Would you like to have yours up here, perhaps?’

      Davina guessed that Rhiannon would probably be coming in to have tea and that this was a tactful intimation of the fact, and she agreed. The prospect of seeing Gethyn again had made her more keyed up than she had realised, and now she felt almost weak from anti-climax. She needed to relax and unwind for a while, and it would be far preferable to do so up here, out of Rhiannon’s hostile sight.

      Mrs Parry hesitated at the door. ‘I’m sorry Rhiannon’s behaving like this,’ she said frankly. ‘But she is very fond of Gethyn—always has been. But she’ll come round, I daresay. Maybe this is the best thing that could have happened.’ And on that, she vanished.

      Davina sat down in the easy chair and looked out on to the apple trees, their leaves moving gently in the slight breeze. She still could hardly believe that she was actually at Plas Gwyn. She leaned her head back on the cushions and closed her eyes, absorbing the sounds and silences of her new surroundings. She could hear the distant sound of the river, and superimposed upon it, closer at hand, the bleating of sheep and the sharp bark of a dog. Somewhere a horse whinnied with a restless stamp of hooves, and below her she could hear the homely clatter of cups and the rising whistle of a kettle.

      Presently, when she had had her tea, she would walk up to the car and fetch her case. It contained her night things and a change of underwear, but little more, and she wondered rather restlessly what she would do if Gethyn’s absence was a prolonged one. She sighed. That he would be away from home when she arrived was the last thing she had bargained for. It was almost as if he had guessed her intention and timed his absence accordingly, but that was nonsense, of course. He could have had no idea she was on her way.

      The bedroom door banged open and Rhiannon made her appearance, carrying, somewhat surprisingly, a tray of tea. Her eyes lowered sullenly, and her lips set, she marched across the room and deposited the tray on the table at Davina’s elbow.

      Davina decided to try another friendly overture. ‘What a charming room this is,’ she commented. ‘I hope I’m not putting anyone out by being here.’

      Rhiannon shrugged. ‘Only Gethyn, and he’s not here at the moment, it hardly matters, does it? Who knows? When he comes back, he may be putting you out.’

      The bedroom door slammed on her departure and Davina sat bolt upright on her chair, her attention utterly arrested by what the other girl had said. Then she jumped to her feet and went over almost feverishly to the dressing chest, tugging open a drawer at random. Her worst fears were confirmed. A pile of shirts, neatly folded and unarguably masculine, was revealed. The contents of the other drawers only served to hammer the lesson home. This was Gethyn’s room.

      A bright spot of humiliated colour burned in her cheeks. What could Mrs Parry have been thinking of? She must know what the situation was between Gethyn and herself—might even be aware that a divorce was projected, so how could she have put her in this room?

      Davina swallowed and closed the drawers, backing away from